


Something's Always Within Reach

by charlieellenstolte



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternative Universe - 60s, Cynthia is too good of a character for me to leave out, F/F, Firebringer and Spies are forever crossover, Includes Art, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11844633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlieellenstolte/pseuds/charlieellenstolte
Summary: The large and lavish ballroom seemed impossibly crowded, every square inch taken up by the chiffon of skirts or the silk of tablecloths. It was also incredibly loud too, the chatter of guests and the music coming from the chamber orchestra clashed against the buzzing of Clark and Claire discussing the security in the perimetre coming from the small earpiece in her left ear. They were stationed outside the palace in a truck nearby for fear of being recognised. They’ve been here before. They’ve played this game before. It was Jemilla’s turn now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of Firebringer and Spies are Forever crossover, though Jemilla and Zazzalil aren’t replacing Curt and Owen, rather that they’re just Cynthia’s other agents.
> 
> The last names aren’t canon, they are taken from my [other Firebringer fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11595378/chapters/26062437) where I took liberties with their full names
> 
> Jemilla’s full name is Jemilla Anderson  
> Zazzalil’s full name is Zazzalil Rodriguez (She’s gonna be referred as that for all of this chapter, so it might seem a little weird)
> 
> There is art done by me, but my dumb ass forgot what Zazzalil was wearing so it's different from the description in the chapter lmao.

The large and lavish ballroom seemed impossibly crowded, every square inch taken up by the chiffon of skirts or the silk of tablecloths. It was also incredibly loud too, the chatter of guests and the music coming from the chamber orchestra clashed against the buzzing of Clark and Claire discussing the security in the perimeter coming from the small earpiece in her left ear. They were stationed outside the palace in a truck nearby for fear of being recognised. They’ve been here before. They’ve played this game before. It was Jemilla’s turn now.

She swayed around guests, trying to scan the room without looking suspicious. She blended in with the crowd, her curly hair in a topknot and a pearly white dress to match. It would be horrendously impractical if she had to get out of there in a hurry but the gun and knife hidden in a holster strapped to her thigh was comforting.

Jemilla almost missed spotting the target, barely realising that the woman leaning against the column was Rodriguez until she did a double take. If you weren’t looking for her you would have never had noticed her, her grey chiffon skirt and tailored jacket matched the hundreds of women in the room, the only thing different being the absence of a partner on her arm. She looked slightly different than the pictures she was shown, shorter and prettier than the blurry photos other agents were able to capture from long and intensive stake outs. Rodriguez’s eyes were trained on the back of the hall, where the German diplomat and his wife were seated, with an almost bored expression, though Jemilla knew she was here for a reason.

                                                                                  

“I found Rodriguez, she’s on the ballroom floor.” Jemilla ducked around the back of a floral bouquet to speak into her watch. Everyone else was too preoccupied with dancing or chatter to even hear or notice her but she had no clue if Rodriguez had partners with her dotted around the room. That was the thing about her, she was incredibly unpredictable, cropping up all over America and Europe with no sense of pattern or organisation, sometimes with almost 10 partners though most frequently alone. It was this unpredictableness of Rodriguez’s that made her so damn difficult for the CIA to find, with an anonymous tip from a presumably retired agent being the clue to her presence in Berlin.

“So talk to her you dipshit.” Cynthia’s voice blared through the speaker, clearly annoyed. “I’m your boss not your fucking babysitter. Get the fuck in there.” Jemilla bought the watch down from her face so that Cynthia couldn’t hear her sound of exasperation. Jemilla was used to desk jobs, scoping out intel for field agents, of course, she’s going to be unsure of what to do.

“There seems to be no sign of other spies we have encountered before with her, so if you end up talking to her in private, the West Wing should be ideal,” Claire added over the line, and Jemilla whispered her affirmation.

Jemilla straightened and started moving around the edge of the room, smiling at tipsy guests but keeping her eyes trained on where Rodriguez was standing. She was now hovering around the lavish buffet, almost carefreely. Jemilla circled around the column and moved to the table just in time to grab the treat that Rodriguez was reaching for.

“Oh I’m so sorry, did you want this one?” Jemilla acted flustered as she offered the treat back to the other woman.

“Oh, no it’s perfectly fine, there’s plenty more.” Rodriguez smiled at Jemilla, the type of smile that TV presenters wear for the camera.

Up close, Rodriguez’s eyes were more noticeable than from afar, big and brown, and her slightly frizzy hair was coming apart from the low bun and forming a halo of small curls around her face.

“I’m so sorry about that.” Jemilla continued on, slowly munching through a macaron from the table, trying to act tipsy. “I haven’t been to many events as big as this one and this is a bit overwhelming.”

“You sound American.” Rodriguez kept up that prize winning smile, though she frowned a little.

Shit. Jemilla had forgotten about the accent.

“Yes, I am.” She lied through her teeth. “My husband is German though, he’s here on important business, I’m just here to have fun.” She giggled and playfully nudged Rodriguez in the side.  
“Where is he now?”

Jemilla scanned the ballroom and pointed. “He’s the one in uniform, standing next to that paper sculpture there. Kind man. Always knows how to make me laugh.”

When she turned back to Rodriguez, something about her gaze looked different than from before, her eyes lidded slightly and her TV presenter smile faltered and looked softer.

“I never caught your name, Mrs...?”

“Nancy Fischer.” Clark’s voice came over the earpiece and Jemilla almost flinched in surprise, barely managing to keep a neutral expression.

“Nancy Fischer,” Jemilla repeated, extending a hand, which Rodriguez shook firmly. She silently thanked Claire for lending Jemilla her wedding ring to fit the persona she was putting on that night. She already seemed slightly suspicious, having no wedding ring would be a dead giveaway.

“Mary Brown,” Rodriguez replied, and there it was again, that unexplainable expression. “It is rather loud in here, do you think we can get out to somewhere more,” her gaze dropped, “quiet?”

Holy shit. It suddenly clicked in Jemilla’s mind. Rodriguez was flirting with her?

Jemilla was suddenly acutely aware of everything around her, the heat of the ballroom, the laughter of people around them and Rodriguez’s soft smile. She remembered Claire’s remark about the West Wing and realised that it could work. Her mission was to get close with Rodriguez, to persuade her to join the CIA, and here she was, getting close with her. It was by no means the way that Cynthia had planned it but it was something.

“Alright.” Jemilla slurred her speech a little, trying to act drunker than she was and threw in a wink for good measure. It seemed to work as Rodriquez took her by the arm and lead her to the doors.

The corridors of the palace were much quieter, something about the extravagantly adorned walls blocked most of the sounds of the party, leaving only the dull murmur of conversation and the sound of their shoes echoing through the passage. Rodriguez was humming to herself, a vaguely familiar tune but Jemilla didn’t question it. They rounded a corner and Rodriguez pushed open a door to reveal what looked to be an informal dining room, which seemed pale in comparison to the rest of the palace due to its lack of gold adornments.

“So,” Rodriquez sank down onto a wooden chair, pulled out another and beckoned Jemilla to sit. “Tell me about yourself. I’m interested.”

Almost immediately Clark started feeding information into Jemilla’s earpiece from the cover they created earlier and Jemilla started repeating his words, creating a narrative of a bored housewife, finally getting a break at the many functions she has been attending in Berlin. Rodriguez listened and nodded along, gradually moving her chair closer until she was only an arm’s length from Jemilla.

“What about you? Why are you here?” Jemilla asked, scootching forward on her seat.

“I prefer to remain a little more mysterious.” Rodriguez’s hands brushed over Jemilla’s forearms, making her slightly jolt. “It’s more interesting.”

Jemilla was on the verge of saying “More interesting to who?” before she noticed Rodriguez leaning in, and decided not to. She was impossibly close now, inches apart from Jemilla’s face, their height difference showing even though they were sitting down. Jemilla played along, leaning in as well, fluttering her eyelids closed-

Jemilla yelped as she was suddenly wrenched from her seat onto the ground by Rodriguez and felt her wrists being bound quickly by a rope of sorts.

“The fucking CIA again?” Rodriguez growled. “How many times do I need to threaten your agents to leave me the fuck alone?”

“How in the-”

“Your ‘husband’ that you pointed out isn’t fucking married and has been rumoured to be gay you absolute dipshit.” Rodriguez had completely tied Jemilla’s wrists together now, the rope wrapping around the heavy wood of the dining table. “So this is the type of quality agent you fucks are sending me now? Is your organisation seriously low on people who can actually do their job so they sent you instead?”

Jemilla made a series of robot-like sounds of frustration and glared up at Rodriguez who was now pacing to the door. “No more meddling around in my shit or I won’t be so nice next time.” She warned, and with that, left.

“Agent Anderson? Do you read me? Are you safe?” Claire’s worried voice blared out as Jemilla sighed and slumped against the table leg.

“I’m unharmed,” Jemilla reassured Claire, trying to twist around to get a better look at the curtain tassel bound around her wrists.

“Do you need evacuation or backup?”

“No, it’s too risky if Rodriguez saw either of you here. Besides, the idiot forgot to check for weapons and de-arm me. I have my knife, I should be fine.”

“Take caution, Anderson.”

Jemilla twisted her torso around and hiked up her skirt in efforts to reach the holster on her thigh. It was difficult and slightly hurt from the strain but she managed to pull the knife out, nicking herself in the progress. She made quick work of the rope and hauled herself up, rubbing at her sore wrists.

Rodriguez was clearly here for a reason, and it can’t be good judging from her determination to remove Jemilla from the picture. She was known to be wildly unpredictable with her missions, never working towards eliminating one single organisation and never trying again where she failed.

Jemilla replaced the knife back and slipped out into the corridor, keeping her movements light. She rounded the corner and entered the ballroom cautiously, the sounds of laughter and music overpowering her once again. She now knew what she was looking for and found Rodriguez quickly, a flash of grey chiffon disappearing through the front entrance gave her away. Jemilla weaved through the crowd mumbling apologies in German before she was blinded by a flash of a camera coming from one of the balconies on top seating the press. Shit. She kept moving regardless and stumbled over a table leg, only managing to get out of the room with her dignity still intact.

Rodriguez wasn’t going to leave without getting the job done, so surely she must have gone upstairs or down the east wing. Jemilla took her chances going upstairs and tread lightly, trying to stop the echo of her foot steps. There was a series of doors that led to balconies and bedrooms and Jemilla found Rodriguez on her fifth try, opening the door to reveal her reloading her gun and speaking frantically into her watch, only stopping when she heard the click of the safety turning off on Jemilla’s gun.

“Drop the gun, Rodriguez,” Jemilla ordered, then started speaking into her watch. “I found her alone on the fifth balcony, I may need back up soon.”

                                                                                   

Rodriguez complied and glared at Jemilla. “For the last goddamn time, stop messing with my shit!” She spoke through clenched teeth.

“What are you even hoping to achieve here?”

“I’m going to shoot the diplomat.”

That almost threw Jemilla off guard her hold on the gun wavering a little. “At a ballroom? In front of hundreds of people? What are you, fucking nuts?”

“It needs to be fucking done, and since you guys don’t seem to be capable of doing it, that leaves me. We’ve countless intel about his relations with the Nazi party but you guys have done nothing to get rid of him.” Rodriguez took a step towards her but backed off when Jemilla tightened her grip on the gun again.

“We are going to do it, quietly in a remote location, not at a fucking ball celebrating a German-Russian marriage. Do you even realise how difficult the relationship between Germany and Russia is right now? The murder of the diplomat would leave people pointing the blame at Russia and would blow this union to shit. Do you even think before you act?”

“I’m not playing peacemaker here, I’m getting the job done!” Rodriguez half-shouted and Jemilla threw her hand to the other woman’s mouth and frantically shushed her. Rodriguez’s stare was practically murderous now.

“Look, we’re going to take you back to America and issue a penalty to you. If you agree to join the CIA, we’ll drop all charges. If you refuse, you’ll likely end up in prison. Do you understand?”

Rodriguez didn’t reply, only flicked her gaze to something or someone behind Jemilla. This was the only warning Jemilla received before a dull blow met the base of her skull and her world faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some artwork of mine to the first chapter if you haven’t seen it. Also, I’m going to be on a hiatus for a few weeks on all of my fics because of mock exams so the next update might not be for a while yet.

The rumbling of the Van jostled Jemilla back in consciousness and she groaned, trying to press her face into the leather of the seat. When she blearily opened her eyes it was still dark outside with the occasional streetlight washing the interior of the vehicle in yellow light.

“Oh good, you’re not dead.” A voice called from somewhere in front of her, and Jemilla groaned as she recognised it. Fucking Rodriguez. She suddenly became aware of the cool metal of handcuffs around her wrists and the feeling of the absence of her holster around her thigh underneath the scratchy material of the dress. The idiot seemed to have finally checked her for weapons. 

“How the fu-” Jemilla moved to sit up and hissed as a dull throb of pain pulsed on the back of her head.

“That was Keeri’s work.” Rodriguez proudly gestured to the blonde woman driving the car, who gave a little nod and a smirk in the rear vision mirror. She looked slightly eccentric, with her hair mussed up into some sort of pigtail hairstyle, like a little girl would wear, and two large feathered earrings tangled up in the flyaways from her hair. 

“I hope you like the Bavarian Alps, cause that’s where we’re heading.” Rodriguez continued, drumming her fingers on the car’s dashboard.

“So… you actually shot-?” Jemilla started slowly.

“Yes.” Rodriguez nodded and Jemilla groaned, “Sent the whole ballroom into chaos. But unlike what you thought, we did have a plan for it not to be framed on Russia. Set it up to look like the German Minister Müller or whatever his name did it and knocked him out.” Keeri mimed hitting someone on the back of the head with a gun against the steering wheel and grinned widely.

Jemilla sighed deeply and ran her handcuffed hands down her face. “You fucking idiot.” She mumbled underneath her breath.

“Pardon?”

“You fucking idiot.” Jemilla repeated, louder, “Do you really think they’re going to buy that?”

Rodriguez shrugged. “We’ll have to find out.”

Jemilla struggled up into a sitting position to get a better look at the two. Rodriguez had changed out of the dress into more casual clothes, a brown and purple striped jumper rolled up around her elbows as she slowly sifted through a folder or papers. 

“So are you ever going to tell me why I’m here? Why did you bring me along?” Jemilla started slowly, breaking the quiet.

“You had far too much information on us about the assassination and what better way to absolutely piss off the CIA than kidnap one of their field agents.” Rodriguez barked out a laugh. “Plus I’m far too lazy to clean up after your mess.”

“And you think kidnapping me will-” Jemilla was interrupted as the van drove over a pothole and her head was painfully bumped against the window. “-will stop the CIA from going after you? I’m not a field agent but I’m not indispensable.” 

“Your people are gonna fuck us over either way, why not have some fun while I’m at it?” Rodriguez finally looked back over the seat to Jemilla, who steadily avoided eye contact. “So, Nancy Fischer, do you have a name that’s not god-awful such as that?”

“And why should I give confidential information to you?”

“Keeri thinks we’re gonna be cooped up in a small lodge for quite a while so I’d prefer not to call you Nancy.”

There was a long pause between the two of them, where they just stared at each other until Jemilla finally caved in. “Jemilla. My name is Jemilla.”

“Last name?”

Jemilla only let out a loud sound of exasperation in response. “I’m not giving you that.”

Despite not receiving a second answer, Rodriguez smirked and moved back to face the road again, clearly satisfied. “Zazzalil.” She answered in return, despite Jemilla not asking.

There was an unspoken “I know.” on Jemilla’s lips but instead, she chose to stare out the window, where the dawn sky was slowly becoming day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while, mock exams drained the life out of me and then I hit writers block.
> 
> I added yet again, more artwork to the first chapter so check that out
> 
> The internalised homophobia tag applies to this chapter, so there's a content warning for that.

“So,” Zazzalil slammed the boot of the car shut and spun around in a circle, her arms outstretched in a way that vaguely reminded Jemilla of _The Sound of Music_. “Welcome to the North Tyrol Limestone Alps.”

The drive had taken nearly all day, with Keeri taking backstreets and avoiding the main roads through Germany as if there was someone following that they had to shake off.

“Boring name, boring place.” Keeri grinned, dragged a reluctant Jemilla out of the car and lead her along a path to the Lodge.

It was a small house, only made smaller by the sight of the Alps above it in the distance, lit up orange by the afternoon sun. Made of wooden logs and half hidden by the pine trees around it, it didn’t look as if it were used often or cared for well.

“So, is it yours?” Jemilla asked Zazzalil, gesturing towards the lodge (or tried her best to gesture with her hands handcuffed together behind her back).

“God, no.” Zazzalil snorted and didn’t provide any further explanation towards whose house it actually was. She pulled a ring of keys out of the duffel bag slung over her shoulder and tried a few in the lock of the door, the fourth key being that one that made it swing open.

As soon as Jemilla stepped inside after Zazzalil and Keeri, a pile of clothes was thrown into her chest.

“Change. That dress is lovely, but it's colder here than in Berlin.” Zazzalil remarked from where she was flipping light switches on around the room.

Jemilla raised her handcuffed hands and gave Zazzalil a look. She was far too tired to continue the back and forth type of argument they had in the car.

“Ugh, fine.” Zazzalil walked over and uncuffed Jemilla hands so she could change. “It's not like you could run and get anywhere quickly anyway. Most residents live on the other side of the mountain and it's not skiing season. It's just us and a fuckload of bugs here.” She pushed Jemilla towards one of the side rooms and turned around to give her privacy as Jemilla pulled on the clothes she was given.

“Well, it's not that bad.” Zazzalil continued, leaning against the sliding door. “It's either here or another place in Poland and that house _really_ is a shitshow.”

Zazzalil cuffed Jemilla again (with her hands in front of her instead of behind, a big mistake) and slid closed and locked the sliding door, leaving Jemilla in near darkness in what appeared to be a study.

Jemilla pressed her ear up against the door until she heard the sound of footsteps retreating, and slumped against the wall. She was still exhausted from the events in Berlin just a day before and felt extremely guilty for not giving Claire and Clark enough information about how she was going to go after Rodriguez. _Fuck_ , they must be worried sick.

One thing that was strange was how _nice_ Zazzalil was being to Jemilla. She was clearly trying to hide it, snarky remark after snarky remark, but she had heard of the other agents who were assigned to recruit Rodriguez who came back with gunshot wounds or broken limbs. The worst Jemilla had received from the two was a minor head injury, and even then Keeri went easy on her. She wasn’t sure if all these mistakes that Rodriguez was making were due to her clear laziness and lack of organisation, or rather because she didn’t completely hate Jemilla.

Jemilla slowly slid down to the floor, using her discarded ball dress as a pillow and lay there for what seemed to be hours, listening to Zazzalil and Keeri’s muffled conversation, filled with laughter. It was only when sunlight slid into the room through a tiny window that Jemilla did fall into a restless sleep.

Three days passed before either Zazzalil or Keeri had a proper conversation with Jemilla, not counting the small check-ins as they give her leftovers of whatever they were eating and lead her to the bathroom. It’s not nearly as bad as the abuse and torture Jemilla had experienced as a hostage in her path but it was incredibly _boring_. There was always one person keeping watch over her, the other out of the Lodge doing whatever, but both stubbornly refused to talk to Jemilla.

The most entertainment Jemilla got out of her days was by pressing her ear to the wall and listening to the other two’s conversations. They always seemed incredibly _happy_ together, Zazzalil going on large rants about whatever world politics (mainly about how she didn’t give a shit about them, despite talking for over an hour) which was punctuated by Keeri’s laughter and small comments.

The two had chemistry and seemed to work together as a team that Jemilla had never experienced with her own previous and current partners. Sure, there was Claire and Clark, but Jemilla hated to admit how caring they were, which was especially dangerous in their line of work. Partners come and go and Jemilla knows with a sad certainty that it could very well happen to them too.

They weren’t Jemilla’s first partners, no, she had a string of them in her history as most agents did. First, there was Brownings, in the spring of 1959, both fresh to the CIA and riding off the high of finally pushing their way past the roles of reports officers to field agents. A bullet to Brownings’ right hand quickly brought them both down to earth and she was put off duty.

Then there was Jackson, who constantly berated Jemilla every step of the way in every mission until she finally snapped and asked Cynthia for a partner change. He was followed by Liang, Williams, Ferguson, and Ellett, who all blurred together in Jemilla’s mind, each either met an unfortunate end or got fired. There was no time in this line of work to mourn the lost ones.

On the fourth day Jemilla was woken by Rodriguez sliding open the door and swinging around an office chair to sit on it backward, a grin spread across her face. She was still in the same clothes as she was four days ago, the only thing changed was her curly hair was now swept up into a ponytail.

                                                                                                                                                          

Jemilla only looked up from where she was absentmindedly tearing little pieces of paper and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’m bored. Keeri’s out. Tell me a story or something.”

“A story? Did you kidnap me just for entertainment?” Jemilla had to refrain from groaning out loud. They’d only had brief conversations but she could tell how _annoying_ Zazzalil was, constantly pestering people for information until they gave in. She’d be great at interrogations.

“You CIA fuck up all the damn time, there’s bound to be some interesting stories to come out of it.” Zazzalil prodded Jemilla with the tip of her boot in attempts to get an answer, but it only made her more annoyed.

“You only hear about the fuckups.” Jemilla dragged herself up so she was standing above Rodriguez and leaned back against the wall. “That’s the whole point, that the good shit we do is confidential.”

Zazzalil scoffed. “And what’s so _good_ about the CIA? Hell, you guys are responsible for most of the greatest political mishaps in the last 10 years.”

Jemilla sighed deeply, eyes wide. “You just shot a fucking diplomat!”

“Whatever.” Zazzalil waved Jemilla off with a hand, the movement almost making her fall off the office chair. Was she _drunk?_ “Tell me, what’s one thing you actually enjoy about your work?”

Jemilla didn’t respond, trying to shut down the conversation. This only made Zazzalil pester her more until she was practically kicking her with the heel of her boot until Jemilla caved.

“I don’t know- _stop kicking me_ , the people I work with?” She paused for a few seconds before continuing, her voice softer. “I miss Claire.”

“What, did your team building exercises really leave that much of an impact.” Zazzalil snorted at her own joke.

Jemilla rolled her eyes. “No, her and I are-, we’re close.”

Zazzalil continued, still laughing. “You two are best buds now after those icebreakers? Those trust falls?”

“No, we’re _partners_.” Jemilla emphasized the last word, fixing her stare on Zazzalil.

“I know you’re-” Zazzalil’s words cut off and Jemilla could see the exact moment she understood what she actually meant.

The mood in the room immediately shifted, Zazzalil’s laughter and the grin was replaced by a blank look as she shifted in her seat. Jemilla only held her stare as Zazzalil eyes moved to fixate at a spot somewhere behind her, her tongue darting across her lips nervously.

“I-I’ve gotta check on something.” Zazzalil stumbled out of her chair, her shoulder nearly colliding into the sliding door as she left the room.

Jemilla waited until she heard the slam of the front door to cautiously step out into the main living space. She’d known Rodriguez to be careless, but this was a new level of carelessness, leaving Jemilla with free roam of the house. It would be too dangerous for her to go outside though, knowing Zazzalil was armed and tipsy and how isolated the cabin was.

Zazzalil and Keeri seemed to have absolutely trashed the interior of the cabin, the kitchen cupboards flung open and the table covered with maps. Jemilla spotted a duffel bag on a chair and immediately walked over and starting digging through it. Surely she could find her gun or keys to the handcuffs or- there it was! She hastily jammed the found earpiece in her ear and lifted the watch to her mouth, turning on the comm.

“Hello? Is there anyone on the line? This is agent Anderson.” Jemilla silently cursed as the radio crackled with distance but stayed quiet.

The line stayed dead for over a minute, Jemilla desperately clicking it on and off before the line crackled again and she heard a familiar voice.

 _“Jemilla?”_ Claire’s voice was quiet and tired over the com and Jemilla almost cried in relief.

“Claire, Claire! Okay, I don’t have much time but Rodriguez and her partner have me held in a cabin North- no, North-West of the North Tyrol Limestone Alps but I think they’re going to be on the move soon.” Jemilla scanned the maps trying to find some sort of common connection between them all. “They have a lot of maps of the west of The Netherlands which I think is where they’re heading next, you should be able to stop us on the A3 Motorway.”

 _“Before Frankfurt?”_ Jemilla could hear the scratches of Claire’s pen as she hurriedly jotted the information down.

“That’s the one.”

The room suddenly lit up with the van’s headlights as it turned into the gravel driveway. Shit, that must be Keeri arriving back. Jemilla started hurriedly replacing the items back into the duffel bag but held onto the watch for a second longer for a final message.

“One last thing Claire.”

_“Yes?”_

“Try to convince Cynthia not to murder me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching A Very Starkid Reunion and Meredith and Dylan were talking about what a common theme in their shows was, and it was “Sometimes your one true love turns out to be the person you initially disliked” with pretty much sums up this fic and firebringer in general.
> 
> This is a short chapter because this and the chapter following was originally gonna be just one chapter but I split it up because of a short time skip. I was gonna release them together but Becca needed a reason to be awake.

“Come on, wake up!”

A sharp rap at the sliding door abruptly woke Jemilla from where she was sleeping on the floor and she groaned loudly, dragging her hands down her face.

Zazzalil banged on the door again. “Come _on_.” She repeated, clearly irritated and possibly hungover.

The door slid open and Jemilla braced herself for the light of the morning, but the rest of the house was in almost complete darkness. Zazzalil and Keeri must have chosen to move under the darkness of the early morning, to Jemilla’s annoyance.

Rodriguez stood in the door frame, folding a handful of maps and getting very frustrated as she managed to fail at that simple task, constantly bending the paper the wrong way.

Jemilla used the desk leg to pull herself up, purposely taking her sweet time to piss Zazzalil off more. “Where are we going?” She tried to act a little shocked but it didn’t matter because of how Zazzalil was steadily avoiding eye contact with Jemilla.

“Doesn’t matter, hurry up.” Zazzalil grabbed Jemilla by the arm and dragged her through the house and through the front door, a little more forcibly than Jemilla liked.

Keeri was quickly packing bags into the van, illuminated by the headlights and cheerily waved at the two as they stepped outside. A slam of the boot and a rattle of the van door as Jemilla was shoved inside, and the three were off on the early morning road.

At this point, Jemilla suspected that Zazzalil’s sour mood was due to more than a hangover as when she would usually allow contact with Keeri, a hand on her shoulder as she was driving or their usual back and forward conversations, but this time there was nothing. Zazzalil just kept her eyes straight ahead on the road. She didn’t even try to argue with Jemilla, completely ignoring her captive in the back seat.

Subsequently, the ride was painfully quiet, with Jemilla’s worry over whether or not the instructions she gave to Claire were clear enough only making it worse. Keeri seemed to be heading down the predicted route so far but Jemilla still didn’t know for sure that they were heading to Frankfurt, as it was only a wild guess of her’s.

Despite the stress, Jemilla found herself dozing off until she woke again to the van slowing and Zazzalil’s frantic whispers.

“There’s a roadblock up ahead, probably set up to test drivers to see if they’re drunk,” Zazzalil leaned over her seat and unlocked Jemilla’s handcuffs, chucking them under one of the seats. “Don’t you _dare_ try anything stupid. And be _quiet_.”

The van slowed to a stop at the roadblock, Keeri nervously drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Two police officers stepped into the light, tapping on the glass to get Keeri to roll down the window.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, this is just a routine check-up. Did you consume any alcohol last night?” The shorter officer asked in a thick German accent.

Jemilla breathed out shakily in relief. The man was speaking _English_ , a certain sign that this was the roadblock that Jemilla recommended to put in to stop them from entering the Netherlands. A normal police officer wouldn’t be expecting English, and would rather greet them in German or Dutch. It was a slip up on their part, but it reassured Jemilla to no end.

Zazzalil didn’t seem to catch on to this small detail as unobservant as she was. “Oh, no, no, this isn’t a party bus or anything, we’re just visiting our aunt in Den Haag.” She giggled in the high bubbly accent she had put on, which honestly creeped Jemilla out.

“We just need run a couple of tests, this shouldn’t take a minute Ma’am.” The first officer shone his torch on Zazzalil’s face and must have recognised her, as he whispered something to his partner. “Just come out the other side, my partner can help you.”

Zazzalil hesitated, finding Keeri's hand in the darkness and squeezed it nervously. "Of course, that's alright." She smiled at the officer and slowly unlocked the door and stepped out, almost hitting the other officer with the car door.

What happened next occurred almost too quickly for Jemilla to follow. She vaguely saw Zazzalil reach for the gun tucked into her waistband before she was slammed against the side of the car by the officer. This startled Keeri, who hit the gas pedal briefly which jolted the car forward, slamming Zazzalil’s head against the glass again. Keeri tried to move the car again before she stopped as she heard the safety clicking off on the officer's gun.

Jemilla slowly shifted in her seat so that the officers could see her in the light, her hands raised above her head. From her position she couldn’t see either Keeri or Zazzalil’s faces, the latter had her back pressed up against the glass, but she knew how damn pissed they were.

“Miss in the back seat, could you please exit the vehicle slowly.” The officer with the gun trained on Keeri ordered, using his other hand to unlock the door.

Jemilla let out a breath she felt she had been holding for days and stepped out of the car door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I took liberties with the last names, and Claire is referenced as “Claire Miller”
> 
> If anyone catches the slight Solve it Squad reference let me know.
> 
> This chapter was far harder to write than I expected, holy shit.

Jemilla was exhausted. She had been driven to a hotel in Berlin with a room provided for her but yet she was only given enough time to shower and change before she was given a folder of papers to deliver to Cynthia and herded into the car again.

Zazzalil and Keeri, on the other hand, were both handcuffed and packed into the police car but Jemilla was sure that they weren’t a matter that was going to be handled by the German police and she suspected that they had a long flight to America ahead of them.

Both of them didn’t really put up much of a fight, only Zazzalil giving Jemilla the angriest looks as she explained the situation to the officers. This was expected, but one thing that threw Jemilla off guard is the last look Zazzalil gave her before she was driven off, which could only be described as _betrayal_. This made no sense as Jemilla was their hostage, it’s not betrayal if you’re trying to actually escape, but this stuck in her mind for the entire ride to Berlin.

The car pulled into the underground car park of a seemingly ordinary office building, ending Jemilla’s third long car ride of the day. Jemilla stepped out of the car, walking towards the elevator before realising that she didn’t actually didn't know where she was going. She awkwardly walked back, knocking on the driver’s tinted window.

“Uh, which floor?”

The driver looked almost comically disappointed in her. “Just go to the lobby, Ma’am.”

She followed his instructions wringing her hands nervously as the elevator moved upwards. The doors opened with a ding and Jemilla almost immediately spotted Claire waiting for her in the large lobby. She tried to contain her relief, barely hiding a slight sob with a quite obvious cough as she walked over to her.

Claire spotted her quickly, her face splitting into a large smile. “Miss Anderson.”

“Miss Miller.” Jemilla joked back in the same tone.

Jemilla extended her hand for Claire to take in her’s in a sort of handshake without movement. Their profession was the limitation between them, the fear of being found out if they showed intimacy. So they just stood, hand in hand, both of them knowing exactly what the other felt.

Claire broke apart first and walked towards the elevator, gesturing for Jemilla to follow.

“Okay, technically this entire building is the property of the CIA but I still didn’t want to discuss in the lobby.” Claire started as soon as the elevator doors closed. “I, uh, may not have been able to follow through with your last request.”

Jemilla stared. “What, _she’s_ here?”

“Yes.”

“Godammit.” Jemilla sighed, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “She’s going to absolutely kill me.”

“You’re going to have to report to her eventually you know.” Claire shrugged. “Why not do it more.”

“Because usually, she calms down by the time I fly back to America if I screw up.”

“Yes, well, she’s in Europe for someone else’s mess, not just yours. Our agency really has been going through a lot of bullshit recently, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Well no, I haven’t, I’ve been stuck in one house with two idiots for the last week and I haven’t been given any time to catch up on anything.” Jemilla pushed off the wall and readied herself as the doors opened.

Claire led the way, round the corner and knocking against a door leading to a conference room.

“Come in.” Cynthia's muffled voice came from behind the door.

Claire opened the door to a haze of cigarette smoke and Cynthia lounged with her legs on the desk. She was watching the 6 o’clock news on the television, which involved a lot of scoffing as the news reporter made remarks about politics that she clearly disagreed with.

It was either because Jemilla was incredibly exhausted, or that the only person she really talked with in the past week was Zazzalil, but she noticed how weirdly similar Zazzalil and Cynthia’s faces looked. She quickly brushed that thought off as soon as Cynthia noticed her standing in the doorway and sighed deeply, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray.

“You took your sweet fucking time getting us Rodriguez, huh?” Cynthia cleared her throat, swinging legs off the table and standing up.

Jemilla was taken back by Cynthia’s response, which was relatively nice by her standards. She walked over to place the large folder of papers on the desk, cautiously eyeing Cynthia the whole time.

“Well, she’s under your-”

Jemilla was cut off by a sharp pain across her left cheek and she gasped, bringing her hand to her cheek. ”Ow _Fuck_ my fucking-”

“What in the everloving _fuck_ do you call that mess Anderson? Your mission was to catch Rodriguez, not get fucking caught by _her_!” Cynthia half-yelled, leaning over the table to grab Jemilla by the collar of her jacket.

“Neither I nor Miller was aware of another partner-”

“You can’t fucking _oopsie doopsie_ your way out of this, you damn twat!” Cynthia released her hold on Jemilla only to flip her off. “You’re lucky you’re not my biggest problem currently, otherwise you’d be fucking dead.”

Jemilla fell back into the seat, straightening her collar and twisting around as Cynthia was distracted to shoot a frustrated noise Claire’s way that communicated _“Why the fuck didn’t you help me?”_. Claire only shrugged in response.

“No,” Cynthia continued, without Jemilla asking for clarification on her earlier statement. “Another agent went rogue in Geneva on Saturday, got the Prince of the New Democratic Old Socialist- fuck it- got him killed and then killed an M16 agent we thought was dead.” She clicked at Claire to turn off the TV and sat back down at the desk. “It’s all a big messy deal that I now have to deal with, on top of the shooting of the German diplomat.”

Jemilla shifted in her seat awkwardly, clearing her throat.

Cynthia noticed her discomfort and scoffed. “Oh please, The man was going to die either way, Anderson. We’re just unlucky it wasn’t by our hands.” She took a long drag of her Cigarette and started gesturing wildly again, a sure sign she was starting one of her rants. “See, now this is your problem, Anderson. You underestimate people and what they might do. You need to plan around the fact that people aren’t always absolute idiots.”

Jemilla just nodded, as there really wasn’t much she could say about that. She was well aware that it was a problem of hers, one that almost stopped her from achieving her current position in the CIA, with only her realising her mistake almost too late.

A few moments passed before Cynthia sneered again. “God Anderson, respond like you speak English.”

“I know, I’m working on it.” Jemilla tried to cover the half-hearted response by immediately changing the subject. “Uh, do you know where Rodriguez is headed?”

“She’s a dumbass, but she’s too valuable for state imprisonment right now.” Cynthia sighed and started flicking through the files Jemilla had given her. “Plus she has known connections to those other _‘rogue’_ friends of her, and we can weed them out too. Now, if you don’t have anything more helpful or interesting to add, kindly get the _fuck_ out of my office.

Jemilla nodded sharply and strode over to the door, where Claire gave a small smile, that could only have meant it could have been worse.

“Oh, and Jemilla?”

“Yes?” Jemilla turned and frowned.

“Don’t you _dare_ fuck up like that again.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so basically think of everything that happened before this chapter as sort of a prequel. I have no clue at all about how long this fic will be but I know there’s a lot more ahead.
> 
> If you aren’t following my other fic, I took a break for my exam season, which is finally over so no more school ‘til february, and I can write again.

Jemilla didn’t see Zazzalil Rodriguez for a year.

She heard of her definitely, heard of how she had (presumably begrudgingly) joined the CIA, which was probably Cynthia’s doing. Heard of how once Rodriguez joined, so did almost 7 new agents that Jemilla recognised as the people that gave her a hell of a hard time as they tried to track Rodriguez down in the first place.

She did work with some of these people in the year that followed. She worked with Emberly Garretson, a woman with frankly wild hair, on a mission in Switzerland which they were quickly evacuated out for how the agency underestimated the situation. She also worked with Harry Prewitt, a religious man who weirdly only responded to the name “Ducker”, which quickly got on Jemilla’s nerves. This was only made worse by the three weeks they spent in a cabin in Illinois together with Claire for a mission, and there was only so many explanations of conspiracy theories Jemilla could listen to without losing it, especially since _they_ were technically government spies.

The person who surprised her the most though was Keeri Harrington. For all the shit that happened between them with Rodriguez too, Keeri seemed to not give a shit at all. Jemilla wasn’t sure whether it was because she was a particularly forgiving person or if she just wasn’t observant enough to hold grudges. She saw her often when she was in the HQ in Boston, but surprisingly never with Zazzalil, which was weird for how close they seemed before.

Jemilla never spoke to, but did see the other new faces around the various international offices, but never saw Zazzalil. Which didn’t bother her. While Keeri didn’t seem like the type to hold grudges, Zazzalil certainly did and Jemilla didn’t want to be on the receiving end of any more of her bullshit, even if they were working for a common goal now.

Jemilla didn’t see Zazzalil Rodriguez for a year, and could honestly go for another year without her.

The tram rounded a street corner faster than Jemilla expected and she had to grab onto one of the bars to avoid falling onto the middle-aged woman sitting to her left. It didn’t help that she was also jetlagged from just coming off a flight from a mission in the Philippines.

She had been given the location of a small cafe near the waterfront and then dumped in the middle of Dunkirk, France with a map. Cynthia was pissed at her, no doubt, for some incident or another, and her way of getting back at Jemilla was by not shelling out any of the millions of agency dollars for transport. Cynthia was always pissed at Jemilla, for some reason or another, it was just her weird way of looking out for her agents.

Half an hour later, and Jemilla found herself sitting at a table towards the back of the brightly lit and busy cafe, stirring milk into a cup of tea. She had repeated the phrase given to her in the briefings hours before to multiple employees and customers, before deciding to just sit down and order something so she didn’t seem any more suspicious. The briefings before a mission always felt like the calm before the storm, and Jemilla relished in this small moment.

She didn’t sit for long before a tall blonde woman entered the cafe and made a rather unsubtle beeline to the table. For a split second when Jemilla looked up she thought it was Claire, for they looked somewhat similar, but she realised instead that the woman was one of Zazzalil’s partners from before. She knew that someone had to replace the regular informant who died in an incident in Old Socialist New Democrat- whatever the name is-, but she didn’t think they would use such a new member of the agency.

The woman- the informat- sat opposite Jemilla, slinging her shoulder bag onto her lap.

“ _Do you happen to know if they have the same pastries just west of here?_ ” She asked in French, which Jemilla recognised as the phrase she was told in the briefing.

“Uh, _the chef would say no,_ ” Jemilla responded, then switched back to English. “You do realise that I’m supposed to say the first phrase to you and that you’re supposed to be here before me?”  
  
“Whoopsie, oh well.” The informant said, grinning. “W-w-well, uh, it’s not as if anyone here even cares, y'know? Too busy wrapped up in their own lives.”

The woman had such an air of casualness, that even that though the whole conversation was full of mistakes, Jemilla found herself relaxing slightly in her presence. At least she didn’t attempt an honestly bad French accent like the old informant did.

The informant continued talking, pulling books out of her bag and piling them on the small table. “Check this out. New reads for the ‘book club’ if you know what I mean.”

Jemilla picked up one of the books and buried her laughter in her hand. Flicking through the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ revealed the copious amount of top secret and classified information. The thing was that only the right side pages contained this information, so that reading this would include switching between the regular plot and horrifying information about weapon deals.

“Uh, very creative.”

“Wasn’t my idea at all, I can’t make up this stuff.” The informat finally dropped her voice down and leaned in close to Jemilla. “This is all covered in what I gave you but the main overview of your mission is obtain information from this guy-”

She pointed at a _‘Albert Kuznetsov’_ the page of the book.

“-who is, uh, spending a lovely little holiday on the waves, as we have been informed. Luckily, we have extensive blackmail material on the man, from his wife to incriminating documented statements he has said against the Russian government. Finding you a position on staff was too difficult, so you’ll be working undercover with another agent. Think of it as a nice vacation with a few little, uh, side jobs to do.”

Jemilla was silent for a minute, reading the details in the book. It was a small mission, completely like others that Jemilla was used to. She was hardly a big shot spy.

“Who am I working with?” Jemilla said, closing her book and putting it in her own bag. “And don’t tell me it’s Ducker- _Agent Prewitt_ \- again because I don’t think I could spend another day, let alone a cruise, with him again.”

“Oh, no-no-no, definitely not him.” The woman snorted.

“Then _who_?”

The informat reached over to pull the book out of Jemilla’s bag and flipped through it, stopping and pointing at a passage.  
There, in neat black letters, right opposite a detailed description of Mr. Darcy’s estate in Pemberley was printed _“Agent Rodriguez”_.

Jemilla just stared, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 chapters in, I finally sat down and figured out a plot for this whole thing, something bigger than this next bit of story and I’m proud of myself. Does this mean I’m gonna write any faster? Probably fucking not but here we go

"What the shit-?" Rodriguez's voice was drowned out by the cruise liner horn that could be felt through the tarmac they were standing on. The woman was just standing in slack-jawed surprise just after she had accidentally swung her surprisingly solid bag into Jemilla's leg, far from the greeting Jemilla herself had planned.

It was unusually misty for an autumn morning, the thick clouds above turning the whole area a miserable shade of grey. There was no horizon visible in the distance, only a fuzzy line where the cloud and water became the same colour and merged into one.

Zazzalil looked just as Jemilla remembered from those days a year ago, with only a few changes such as her now shoulder-length hair and that she didn't look quite as tired as she did before. Jemilla had absolutely dreaded this second meeting, considering how hostile they were to each other before, but the woman didn't look quite as much of a threat now, in civilian, almost holiday type clothes and weighed down with two canvas bags.

"No-no-no-no, what the fuck?" Zazzalil continued as Jemilla swore silently and rubbed her leg. "What are you do-" Realisation slowly dawned on her face. "-you're Agent Anderson."

"Well, yeah."

"Son of a bitch- Schwoopsie never gave me your first name, _you_ never gave me a last name, she must have known that-" Zazzalil's muttered ramblings were cut off once again by another horn, and Jemilla took the opportunity to butt in.

"Look, Rodriguez- well, _Morrison_ right now- we've got to board right now so could you not-" Jemilla ended her sentence with a sharp sigh and turned Zazzalil around and placed her hand on the woman's back, more of a ' _Get the fuck into character_ ' gesture than anything else. They walked in tandem towards the boarding area, Rodriguez clearly fuming under her breath the whole way and leaning slightly out of Jemilla's touch.

The process of presenting the tickets and (fake) IDs went reasonably smoothly for how on edge they both were, the employee taking one look at them and deciding they looked American enough to hold the entire conversation in stilted English. As soon as JemillIa stopped talking to check the boarding time on her watch it was like some switch was flipped within Zazzalil, as she immediately took over the entire conversation. She jumped into the overly friendly persona of “Jane Morrison”, all smiles and weird slightly flirty remarks. She absolutely seemed like the type of person who would be good at impressions and other theatrical manners.

Zazzalil finished her rambling about the awful weather with that same smile again, one that Jemilla recognised from the ball a year ago. It was disturbingly fake from Jemilla's perspective because she _knew_ , though the employee clearly couldn't tell. Zazzalil strode up the ramp adorned with colourful flags to the ship, leaving Jemilla to quickly collect their fake passports and tickets and hurry after the woman.

The ship seemed to be only half full of people, not as many to be unbearable as the cruise liner was small. There were no families with children to be found as it wasn't the holiday season, though Jemilla also suspected that the advertising for this particular trip was minimal, at the safety of Mr. Albert Kuznetsov. She caught up to Zazzalil, matching her pace as they entered the corridor of cabins. Rodriguez kept up the charade, occasionally waving and saying a "hello" at the other passengers similarly looking for their cabins, though if someone were to look closer they would see how tense she was, knuckles turning white as she gripped her bag handles tight. Jemilla stopped her as they passed their cabin door, golden lettering declaring the room "CABIN 42".

Zazzalil pushed past and opened the door to reveal an almost nauseating nautical themed room, as if being a literal ship wasn't nautical enough. The porthole windows were joined by multiple porthole-shaped mirrors, and a large oil painting of a cliff-bordered bay hung above a single bed and a double bed. The room included an en-suite bathroom and a mini kitchen, even though the trip was catered for, part of the reason it was so costly.

Zazzalil immediately rushed over and got to the double bed quicker, throwing her bags upon it, leaving Jemilla to just shake her head in annoyance. Jemilla knew they were acting like children, fighting over who got what, but she was just pissed. She had days after the briefing to convince herself that working with Rodriguez, rather than against her, wouldn't be the absolute worst, but with a few choice words and angry looks and the other woman just ruined her hopes of a competent mission.

They both stayed silent for a few minutes, Jemilla rummaging through the contents of her open canvas bags, being careful not to disrupt the hidden compartment containing her handgun and bullets. Zazzalil just leaned against the wall with her hand on her hip, staring at nothing in particular. Jemilla opened her mouth to break the quiet before she got beat to it.

"So, Anderson-" Rodriguez started and earned herself a strange exhale of frustration from Jemilla. "Ok, whatever, _Susan Reed_ \- that's weird, Schwoops gave me extra information when I was briefed yesterday and-" Zazzalil stopped and just walked over to pull out a small pad of paper and placed it on Jemilla's bed, walking back to where she stood before to keep the distance between them.

She flicked through the stapled pad of paper to find profiles of three men, with job descriptions as “ _bodyguards for Albert Kuznetsov_ ” beneath more information about them. It seemed silly to only hire such little protection for such a wanted person, but if she thought about it, the worst that happened on cruise ships is just the elderly getting heart attacks. This comforted her that he wasn’t expecting to be tailed by the CIA, giving them only more opportunities to get to the guy.

Jemilla read the papers over a few times more, committing the details to memory before she looked up. "Um, do you know how I dispose of this?" She held up the papers.

"It's rice paper, just eat it."

Jemilla just gave her a pointed look.

"Just kidding, jeez," Zazzalil said, frowning. "Apparently it's combustible. Gonna blow up or something." And right after she spoke those words it weirdly did, a small "pop!" of an explosion coming from where, Jemilla had no damn clue. This caused her to yelp and drop the remaining smoldering pieces to the ground and even Zazzalil looked slightly surprised. The paper had eaten itself up in a flame and immediately extinguished so that it wasn't a threat of a fire unless you were living in a straw hut. It was clever, sure, but Jemilla made a mental note to talk to Barb to improve the invention that it didn't scare the absolute shit out of the recipient.

"Well, now that we both know the full briefing, we can get to work, alright?" Jemilla stood up, brushing her hands on her dress and shutting her suitcase. "I'm sure if we start conversations with some of the other people housed in this particular cabin area we could-"

Zazzalil cut in. "No, I don't really wanna do that. "Just you do- uh, whatever you do in missions, but I know what I'm doing." She pushed off the wall and started moving towards the door, but Jemilla caught up with her quickly.

"Rodri- look," Jemilla caught the other girls arm, causing her to stop and just stare, brown eyes wide. She didn't try to shrug her off or push past though, so Jemilla continued. "I clearly know you didn't want to be partnered with me, and I'm going to be honest, I'm not too thrilled either-" Zazzalil scoffed. "-but, we need to work together on this, no matter what. We may have left off on, uh, not so friendly terms last year but we can't let that ruin our goal here. We've got to do this _together_." The last word hung in the air, more of an offer than a statement, something that the other woman had to accept.

Jemilla became suddenly aware of where they were, close in in the narrow opening corridor of the cabin. Zazzalil was reasonably shorter than her and had to tilt her head up slightly to maintain eye contact. The ship had left port minutes ago, and they were both swaying slightly as the vessel traveled through the waves.

This was probably only a few seconds of silence but it gave Jemilla enough time that she didn't have before to study the woman's face, and she noticed new things. A thin fresh looking scar ran past and joined the two presumably chicken pox marks on her left cheek, too small and thin enough to be seen unless you were face to face like they were now. She was more tan too, probably from some mission in a warmer place, as going on holiday was dangerous for this line of work. This mission was practically a holiday though, if a holiday included retrieving some very valuable and dangerous information for your boss who took "tough love" to the extreme. Jemilla snapped out of her thoughts and tilted her head slightly to the side, waiting for an answer.

Zazzalil drew her lips into a line and sharply nodded once.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat!  
> [My Tumblr](https://gingersnapkid.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/alceaon)  
> 


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